Directional Influence
by sullenS
Summary: Embittered and jaded by his personal life after the Brawl Tournament, Olimar returns to the battlefield once again. He will meet new fighters and old friends and must form relationships with them (whether he wants to or not), for many trials lie ahead and they're far more than even he can handle alone.
1. Round One: Veterans and Newcomers

**Round One: Veterans and Newcomers**

* * *

><p>A lot has changed since that day. This old place, once humble, has grown immensely, with more stores and intergalactic flight services to accommodate the rising tourist and commuter population. Demand for local products, especially Pikpik carrots, have skyrocketed, leading to demand for more workers. The economy in the past year alone has thrived; finding a job is no longer such a chore.<p>

Olimar is returning from his latest errand, a trip to Koppai to drop off some carrots. Even more than the improving economic state is the surprise by how seamlessly he can communicate with the locals—few cultural and lingual barriers exist between them. Which is a boon for Hocotatian society, as Koppai has become one of its biggest customers. Who would've thought they were in such dire straits just a couple of years ago?

But now's not the time to think about Koppai. It's been a long week, flying to and from Koppai, and after all that, the last thing he needs to think about is work. He turns his attention to the family photo hanging on the wall. "Honey, I'm home," he announces with a chuckle. The laughter dies down as he crashes back into reality. Another lonely evening.

A year after his last disastrous trip to PNF-404, he left on another lengthy task, and came back to an empty home, with the dreadful news written on a note left on the table. His wife, normally patient and tolerant, got sick of waiting and left, bringing their two kids with her. A day hasn't passed by without thinking about them.

After finishing dinner, Olimar showers, changes into some comfortable nightclothes, and settles down to sift through his mail. Bills, junk, spam. Nothing worth his immediate concern. "Hmm?"

One letter stands out from the mess of meaningless envelopes. There's no return address, no stamp, just his name and a wax stamped seal. The seal marking is a circle with an off-center cross dividing it into four unequal segments. He's seen this seal once before, a seemingly long time ago. Trembling with anticipation, he opens it.

_To Capt. Olimar:_

_HI THERE!_

_You have been invited to the fourth Super Smash Bros. Tournament. As you are aware by now, this is a grand competition which grants many rewards for success in combat. Because you were a past combatant, you are granted priority access in our roster, should you choose to participate._

_After receiving complaints from some of our participants, we have made necessary changes under the pretense of making this our best event thus far. By signing this letter, you agree to these changes and will be expected to participate._

_We hope you would consider entering._

_HaVE a NiCe DAY! :DDDD_

_~ Master Hand AND CRAZY HAND_

The elegant calligraphy and colorful scrawl is unmistakable. The puppet master and his right, er, left-hand man are at it again. Olimar is far from financial ruin, but the promise of great wealth tempts him. Even more than that, it provides him with a release from the emptiness and stress of mundane life. Swiping a nearby pen, he hastily signs his name on the letter.

Very early the next morning, Olimar is awakened by an ear-piercing noise, indescribable to the human—or Hocotatian—mind. At the foot of his bed is a shadowy form, tall and skeletal. He tries to get away from it, but its long arms reach out and grab him by the ankle, pulling him into its void.

He blinks, his vision and consciousness clearing up, then slowly gets himself up off the ground. Before him is a tall skyscraper, with the emblematic orb adorned on its front doors. The Smash Tower. The doors open, and he strides inside.

Though plain-looking on the outside, the Tower's interior changes with each event. Last time, it was classically detailed and almost gaudy. This time, it is simple, yet modern in design. Seeing the steel-lined walls reminds him of the inside of his own ship, the SS Dolphin. It takes him a moment to realize he is absolutely lost.

"Hey, are you Oliver?" Olimar turns around and looks up. A young man in boxing gear is standing beside him. He's definitely taller than him, but not by much.

"It's Olimar, actually. But yes, that's me." How he can communicate flawlessly with someone from another world has never been explained well; he believes the Tower holds an inherent ability to instantly translate speech into a universal language of sorts. "You're Li'l Mac, aren't you? The Assist Trophy?" He doesn't remember quite everything about the last tournament, especially the part-time helpers summoned into battle.

"The one and only. But I got a promotion. I'll be fighting alongside everyone as an actual Smasher! Ain't that neat?"

He pauses for a moment before giving a smirk. "I'm sure you'll be a great fighter."

Mac chuckles sheepishly. "Thanks. That means a lot, comin' from you." He glances left and right. "Hey, you think you can show me around? I'm kinda lost."

"I doubt I can help much. The place has changed a lot since I was here last." He stares at the long hallway. "Well, better start somewhere."

The two of them travel down the halls, chatting about all sorts of things: home, life, and of course, fighting. "Me and the others were watching you guys fight last year. Been looking up the tier lists, too. I still can't get over how awesome you are!"

Olimar is flustered to hear mention of the tier lists. "Me? Awesome? Oh, no, that's just exaggeration. I'm not all that great."

"Are you kidding me? People are saying you're like an impenetrable fortress with Pokeman sentries and guards. You can probably top Meta Knight if you wanted to!"

"Trust me, no one can top Meta Knight." Where does he even hear this stuff? "What's with all the admiration, anyway?"

Li'l Mac shoots a grin. "Cuz you're like me: small, but powerful. Us underdogs gotta stick together, right?"

Before Ollie can reply, they hear loud noises coming from a pair of doors nearby. A sign above them reads 'CAFETERIA'. "Let's see what the fuss is about." Knowing from experience, he can only think of one suspect. Pushing the door open, he raises his voice, tone stern, "Hey, you better not be making a mess... Kirby?"

The culprit stops in their tracks. It is small and round like Kirby, but that's where the similarities end. It's like if Kirby turned yellow, then sprouted arms and legs and a nose. The oddity looks at Olimar with curiosity, then smiles widely and charges towards him, losing its limbs and facial features in the process.

It chases the both of them across the labyrinthine hallways. Mac spots a door and drags Olimar inside, where they hide from the rampaging yellow thing. Once it's gone for sure, he sighs in relief. "Man, what was that thing?"

"I don't know," Ollie pants. "But that is definitely _not_ Kirby."

Catching their breath, they stop to examine their surroundings. Gym mats and exercise equipment are laid across the floor, and on the end, a few familiar faces are stretching in sync with an ivory-skinned woman in blue. "Strange. When did they hire a fitness trainer?"

The woman stops posing and turns to face them. "Oh, good day," she says with a subtle accent. "Are you here for the class?"

Olimar shakes his head. "Me? Oh, nonono. We were just—"

"Got room for one more?" Li'l Mac interrupts with enthusiasm. The Hocotatian doesn't bother to stop him as he takes off his gloves and follows the trainer's lead.

At the same time, a two-dimensional silhouette in the shape of a cartoonish man steps off its mat and lets him by. It then turns its attention to Olimar, pointing at itself with a beep. Olimar says, "Hold on, you heard our conversation?" The 2D man nods and beeps. "Then you know what we're talking about, right?" It nods again and summons from thin air a small, round shape opening and closing its mouth. "Yes, exactly like that." It makes more beeps and movements; encrypting its gestures takes little effort. "So his name is 'Pac-Man', and he's an old friend of yours?" Another nod. "Great! Do you think you can stop him?" It rubs its tummy and gives a low boop. "Oh, I see. Well, thank you very much."

The two of them out and they begin their search. Through their cooperation, they manage to clear the entire bottom floor, with no luck. Then, just as they are about to turn and head back, they hear a distant sound.

_WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA-WAKA..._

The sound grows in volume as a far-off yellow dot edges closer, its mouth getting bigger and bigger as it rushes towards them. Just as it gets within range of Olimar, the flat man steps in front of him and summons a frying pan to toss strips of bacon in its direction. The dot stops and turns back to its two-legged self to gulp up the meat strips. A huge smile on its face, Pac-Man runs over to embrace the flat man, and they both create a joyous ruckus. The captain tries in vain to block the noise out as he walks away.

Traveling up to the second floor, he takes a moment to look at his hand. When he regained consciousness, he was already wearing his space suit and blown up from his minuscule size to a more practical height. It was a process he went through the last time he competed, but still not something he is used to. Time and time again, he has tried to come up with an explanation for such incidences. But in the end, the only conclusion is that whatever is powering the Smash Tournaments simply defies physics.

The second floor is normally where the dormitories are located, and this time is no exception. The layout, thankfully, has not changed much, with each room evenly spaced from each other. However, Olimar has noticed that there are two names labeled beside each door, a diversion from last time. After a great deal of walking, he finally finds his name, just above someone called 'Alph'.

He barges into the room, eyes wide like saucers. Scanning the room, he finds two beds, a nightstand, and a blue-haired Koppaite. Upon noticing Olimar, the Koppaite chirps in excitement, "Oh, sir, it's you! I didn't expect to see you here. Isn't this great? We're both gonna be in the biggest event of a lifetime!"

Blinking, Olimar replies, "I, er, wasn't expecting you. I got the invitation, but it never said anything about newcomers." Then again, he used to be one himself. "How did you get invited?"

"Through the mail, silly! My invitation said I was recommended by you. Now here I am!"

He takes off his helmet and scratches his bald head. "I did?" He does vaguely recall writing Alph's name on one or two documents, but those weren't related to the Smash Tournament... were they? "I mean, have you met any of the others?"

"I met Li'l Mac earlier. I told him I was looking for you, and he showed me around. Sorta. He doesn't have the best sense of direction. I also met Captain Falcon and Samus. The Captain doesn't look like an astronaut, though." He frowns. "Everyone here's so tall and different and strange; it's making me nervous."

Olimar cracks a wry smile. "It's scary at first, but you get used to it. Just be yourself, and you'll make friends." He hears a knock on the door. "Who is it?"

The voice on the other side of the door answers, "It's me, Li'l Mac. Wanna watch the first match with me?"

_A match already?_ He glances at Alph before speaking. "Um, sure. Mind if I bring along a friend?"

* * *

><p><strong>Round One Post-Script<strong>

* * *

><p>Pac-Man and Mr. Game-and-Watch stroll happily, excited about the upcoming match. They chat about "the good ol' days", asking what the other has been up to since the last time they met. But the longer they walk, the more unaware they are of their surroundings, until they hit a dead end. Mr. GW looks around, slowly coming to terms with the fact that they are hopelessly lost.<p>

Pac-Man suggests going one way. GW suggests another. They squabble over which way to go, then make a compromise. They decide to part ways, promising to meet up later.

Mr. Game-and-Watch walks down the pathway he chose, still getting used to the Tower's new layout. The number of rooms have expanded greatly, providing more options for the increasingly diverse cast, but comes at the price of expanding the rest of the building as well. His chances of arriving on time are very, very slim.

As he travels down one particular hallway, the colors start to change. The walls, normally a sleek silvery white, suddenly transition into a burst of reds and oranges. GW, intrigued by the fiery hues, reaches over to touch them. A stinging, burning sensation strikes his two-dimensional hand, forcing it to recoil in pain. Whatever this paint is made of, it's unfit for any Smasher to make contact with.

Further down, he spots a bluish figure wielding a paintbrush. Upon closer examination, it looks like... '**Mario?'** GW could only catch a glimpse before the figure disappears, making him question himself.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Breaking the action briefly to introduce myself. I am Sullen, and this is my second big writing project, alongside _Snipes 'n' Shells_. This story was inspired by the 3DS version after its release, but will incorporate elements of the Wii-U version in time. Also, I am very, very biased towards the characters I play as, thus the premise. With that said, I hope you will enjoy what DI has in store for you!


	2. Round Two: Settle It in Smash

**Round Two: Settle It in Smash**

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><p>Olimar, Alph, and Li'l Mac—along with the gym trainer, Pac Man, and their paper-thin mutual friend, Mr. Game-and-Watch, meet up in the auditorium, where all the other participants have gathered to witness the battle at hand. On the silver screen is an image of a bright-colored island setting, and the two combatants duking it out.<p>

One of the combatants, a boy in blue armor, is taking the offensive course, combining long-range and short-range attacks to trap his opponent in a corner. The other, a mundane-looking boy with a perpetual smile, is sticking to more evasive strategies. The blue-armored child, labeled onscreen as 'Mega Man', appears to have a wide array of weapons and moves, from fiery claws to attachable bombs; many of his attacks are executed from his right arm, which doubles as a blaster gun. The mundane boy, labeled as simply 'Villager', uses regular, everyday items, such as shovels and watering cans. The latter is clearly outmatched.

As the mundane boy is edged closer to the water, the blue bomber's blaster arm starts glowing. Oddly, the mundane is not doing anything to interrupt him. The blaster fires a large shot of plasma, which flies straight at the boy. Then, just as all seems lost, the boy grabs the plasma shot and puts it into his pocket.

This shocking twist has raised Olimar's awareness, believing perhaps that the Villager has greater potential than first impressions make of him. The rest of the match, he watches his moves closely, analyzing and speculating. The two, upon closer examination, use similar strategies, despite their differing movesets. Seize control of the territory, then trick the enemy into dropping their guard before hitting them where it hurts. Their unique approaches to a common nuance is what makes them especially brow-raising.

After a whole minute of the fighters playing a game of keep-away with each other, Mega Man stops to charge his blaster. The resulting shot isn't quite as large, but the Villager, his damage count already in the red, jumps out of the way. He strikes back with his shovel, digging a hole right underneath Mega's feet. With the armored boy trapped, the Villager brings his hands to his pockets and whips out the plasma shot from earlier, sending him flying out of the scene. A second later, a shining, floating platform brings Mega Man back onto the field, but by then, it's a second too late, as the announcer calls "Time!"

Long after the match has ended, Olimar is still thinking about it—not that he has much else to think about. With Mega Man and the Villager proving to be potential threats, and Pac-Man proving to be, well, a bit nerve-wracking, he cannot help but wonder what else the newcomers are capable of.

"Captain, you've been awfully quiet," Alph says. "Got something on your mind?"

"Yeah, the newcomers," he mutters. "I wonder if we stand a chance against them."

"Aw, don't worry about that. If you're still freaking out over that Villager kid, let's ask him to be our friend."

"We're not here to make friends. We're here to fight and fend for ourselves and win."

Alph stops smiling and averts his gaze. "I thought this was supposed to be fun." He heads over to the door. "If you need me, I'll be down in the game room."

Olimar sits on the foot of the sleep pod, wondering why he feels so reluctant to leave. He accepted the letter and allowed himself to be taken to this strange place. But with so many unfamiliar faces and even fewer friends (Snake and the Ice Climbers were the only people he felt were worth interacting with, for whatever reason), he feels alone. Well, there's always Alph. Young and innocent and curious, he is more open to new experiences. Meanwhile, Olimar himself has lost that adventurous spirit over the years, after losing everything else. What else does he have to lose?

Not willing to spare another moment moping, he steps out and tries to look for the game room. _Damn, lost again._ He turns and starts down the last hall when he spots two figures cleaning the floors. As he gets closer, he recognizes them almost instantly. The smaller one, Villager, stops sweeping. "Hi, pal! Are you lost?"

The captain blurts out, "I, um, no. I mean, yes. I mean, maybe a little." He glances at the second figure—Mega Man. "You two are friends?"

The boy in blue chuckles. "Of course! I didn't expect to make friends, but everyone here's really nice."

_Not quite everyone_, Olimar wants to say, adding a few notable examples.

"We met up after the last fight, and hit it off instantly." Holding up his broom, he scratches his helmeted head. "We saw a big mess, and, well, here we are."

A roach crawls by, which the Villager crushes and sweeps away. "If you wanna help, we have an extra broom, pal."

"No thanks. I just need help finding someone. You know where the game room is?"

Both of them point two different ways. "Down this hall, and to the left," they say, alternating in sync with their assigned directions.

Sure enough, the game room is right where they said it is—more precisely, at the very end. The room is simple but colorful, with a plethora of screens and devices of all sizes. The designs are different from what he's familiar with (the purple box reminds him of a pyramid-shaped machine his son owned), but Olimar can definitely tell their function. The room appears to separate their game consoles by date of origin, with bulky arcade machines in one corner and the purple box and white rectangles in another. Towards the back is a small lounge area, with small, hand-held devices littering the coffee table. For the kid or kid-at-heart, this room is equivalent to heaven, and it's absolutely packed at the moment.

Olimar spots Alph playing with one of the white boxes—called a "Wii" by the Hands of the estate—and he waves back, waving a small, white remote. "Ollie, you're here! Did you come to play?"

"I really shouldn't," he stammers. "I'm not too great with games." At least, not this particular console. The last time he played with this thing, he lost his grip and the controller wound up dug deep into the recesses of the TV. And no, that incident had nothing to do with his loss against Dedede; why would he lose his temper over a silly game?

"You sure 'bout that?" Olimar doesn't get a moment to react, as he's pushed aside by a giant blue penguin. Speak of the devil—er, Dededevil? The penguin picks up a spare controller. "I'd like to see your face when I smash you off-course again!"

Alph furrows his brows. "Hey, I'm the one playing here. Challenge me instead!"

"Stay outta this, runt. This is between me an' the spaceman." He shoves Alph to the side, obviously to push Olimar's buttons. "Let's settle this in Smash!"

Olimar glares at Dedede, then shifts his eyes on the shelf carrying the spare controllers. "I accept your match." He grabs a black controller, normally meant for the purple cube, and thrusts it. "But we're playing by my rules."

With both controllers plugged in, they boot up the game and start a match. Olimar isn't quite sure why there are games based on current and past Smash tournaments, but they're believed to provide extra insight into the fighting styles of the various combatants. But whatever their original intention, most people use them to settle old grudges or flare up new ones. Going by the Captain's rules, they choose to do something a little different: playing as each other.

Their characters appear on the "Battlefield" stage, and the fight begins. Right away, it's obvious that they have no idea how they work. They spend a good minute mashing buttons, getting used to their avatars' patterns. Once they learn a few basic moves, they proceed to go all out. Dedede is a rather aggressive sort, but is surprisingly competent in the air, and his grabbing potential is killer. Fortunately, his weakness is visible once he leaves the center stage, and Olimar uses his few projectiles—cuddly Waddle Dees and spiny Gordos—to knock him away before using a series of chain grabs to gain the upper hand. Driven purely by their determination, the two are equally matched, knocking each other down to their last stock.

Eventually, the in-game clock runs out, and they are forced into a Sudden Death match. They hesitate—a single hit can make or break their chances—but rush onward. After avoiding each other's moves, they move in for the kill. Everything ends in a flash, as the announcer shouts, "Game!"

Neither of them know what to expect. But by then, they don't seem to care. They shake hands and congratulate each other for a good match. Then the game's announcer calls out the winner's name: "King Dedede!" Momentarily dazed by the results, Olimar and Dedede stare at each other, then laugh.

As Olimar exits the game room, Alph has been praising him non-stop, to the point where he has to be told to stop. "As much as I appreciate it, it's not really that big a deal."

"But Captai—"

"Just. DON'T."

Alph bites his lip and bows his head. The captain takes a glance at the young alien boy's face and turns away. Trying to put his thoughts into words, he opens his mouth to speak when the Koppaite yells, "Captain, look out," and pushes him to the side.

A cobalt blue blur zips by before skidding to a stop. The blur—now a hedgehog-like creature—skims its surroundings, then zips in a different direction. The moment is brief, but upon closer observation, the captain notices its pointed ears shifting about—possibly a warning.

Sure enough, the impending danger arrives. A cluster of seven sinister figures riding on round, clown-faced hovercrafts, blaze over the hedgehog's path, splitting up at the fork. Olimar and Alph separate and pursue them. They soon reunite, along with the figures, which trap their target in a corner. The figures resemble turtles with spiked shells, but colorful and varied in appearance. The one in the lead, most notably, has a large head of blue hair. The leader, wielding a sparkling rod, waves it and summons a spark of magic straight at the hedgehog.

At the last second, the hedgehog curls up into a ball and leaps, avoiding the blast. It then unleashes a spinning fury upon his foes, striking from above. With its supersonic speed, they never stood a chance. The seven pursuers lying unconscious on the floor, the hedgehog relaxes its stance. "Hey, buddy," it says with a grin; its voice visibly male. "Sorry I stole all the action. I'll let you have first hit next time."

He offers his fist, which Olimar bumps with his own, rather awkwardly. "Don't worry about it, Sonic. Who were those hooligans, anyway?"

"Dunno. But they look an awful lot like that Bowser creep."

He hasn't a chance to speak further on the subject when an announcement blares out. "Will Sonic please proceed to the backstage? The match will begin shortly. Thank you."

"Huh. Go take care of them for me, will ya? Gotta blast!" He zooms off, leaving the two space cadets alone.

As soon as the blue hedgehog is gone, the hooligans finally regain their senses. The lead hooligan scratches his hairy head. "Hey, where'd that blue thing go?" He glances at Olimar, then jabs the rod in his direction. "You! Short one! Get out of our way, or else."

Olimar raises his fists, but Alph steps in to interfere. "Hold it! We'll do what you want! Just drop your weapons." The leader and his accomplices comply, as does the Captain. "Good. We can start talking like fellows now. Let's start with—"

"We don't have time for introductions," says the azure leader. "Get to the point, or we will show no mercy."

"Let me handle this," the Captain mutters as he steps forward. "You there. Do you happen to know anyone by the name of Bowser?"

"Bowser, King of Koopas. Yes, he is our leader. We carry out 'special orders', if you may. But he's preoccupied at the moment, so we're carrying out our own mission."

"Is chasing innocent creatures part of your 'mission'?" Alph butts in.

"He was in our way," answers one of the henchmen, sporting a pink polka dot bow. "We were looking for someone else when we bumped into him."

His interest piqued, Olimar continues. "Who are you looking for?"

The brown-and-white minion is about to open his mouth when another, wearing pink shades, covers it. "That's none of yer beeswax, shortie!"

Olimar speaks on, unfazed. "Surely you can't give us a name, at least? Perhaps we can help apprehend him."

The leader shoots a glare. "You'll know when you see him. And when you do, tell him the Koopalings have arrived." With no apparent desire for further conflict, he and the others make their exit.

* * *

><p><strong>-Round Two Post-Script-<strong>

* * *

><p>On the rooftops of the Smash Tower, a crystal-blue figure, bearing a strong resemblance to a certain mustached plumber, squeezes himself out of an air vent. Finally free from all pursuers, he transforms into his true self: a small, green turtle-like creature with a spiked shell and red-orange hair in a topknot.<p>

He pulls off the bandanna covering his maw and sighs in relief. "So this is the Smash Tournament everyone's talking about," he muses while observing the red-and-navy-blue cosmic horizons. The skies are clear enough that he can count every star, if he could. Yet somehow, it all feels familiar, like something he's seen in a dream. "I don't see what the big deal is. Dad's been going to these sorts of things all the time. So why won't he let me fight?"

Suddenly, he hears a noise in the distance. Two, in fact. He turns around, wary. A short distance away is a brown dog, accompanied by a purple duck. The dog barks and the duck quacks, confirming themselves as the source of the sound. The dog approaches him and lies on its back.

Petting the animal's belly, he cannot help but smile. "Hey, boy. What's your name?" He reads the engraving on the collar's tag: IF FOUND, RETURN TO HUNTER. "Hmm. I guess I'll call you Hunter. 'Til we find your owner, anyway." He glances at the duck. "And I'll call you Ducky." The duck quacks in disapproval, but he pays no mind.

Another noise, loud and rumbling goes off. Hunter rolls over and perks up, with the duck following suit. He turns to watch what's provoking the animals. Up in the sky, a small speck turns into the shape of a spaceship as it grows closer. The spaceship shakes and trembles in the air for a while before it crash-lands at the foot of the Tower. Curious, they gather near the edge of the building, watching as the smoke clears.


	3. Round Three: All That Glitters

**Round Three: All That Glitters**

* * *

><p>Sonic proceeds to the dark room—often referred to as the "backstage"—and steps into one of the many teleporters lined up. In the capsule next to him is Bowser, standing more upright than usual. The blue hedgehog chuckles, "What's up, big guy? Looking good. Didja lose weight?" The turtle-dragon snorts. "So, uh, how's life? Any family reunions, or...?"<p>

"Not much. Junior's going through a rebel phase, though." He crosses his arms and mutters, "Sort of like you."

Sonic retorts, slightly offended, "Well, he's got good taste in role models, then." Getting back to the subject at hand, he asks, "Say, you don't happen to have other kids, do you?"

Bowser shoots a side-glance. "I took in a few orphans back in the day. What about it?"

He scratches his head and laughs. "Nothin'. Just baseless rumors. And I might've bumped into them earlier."

The Koopa King stays silent. Then: "Do me a favor, Hedgehog. Don't tell anyone 'bout what I said. 'Specially not Mario. If anyone asks, I only got one kid. Oh, and, uh, keep an eye on those guys. They're good kids, despite their behavior."

The hedgehog raises a brow, quizzical, but gives a thumbs-up anyway. "You got it, tough guy!" Nothing more is said between the two as they are transported to their destination, but Sonic swears he caught the turtle king cracking a smile.

In the auditorium, towards the back, Olimar watches the commencing battle in silence. He laments forgetting to bring his journal, but he tries to compensate by focusing closely on the fight, taking mental notes of each subtle movement. _Hmm. Bowser's a bit faster than usual. Did he lose weight? And Sonic seems to have improved in strength. They've both gotten much better than when I last saw them._ He doesn't even notice the smile forming on his face.

As the stocks shrink down, the fighters on-screen begin to amp their game. Sonic stops using evasive maneuvers and is going straight for the kill. But Bowser, who has been outright aggressive for most of the battle, has turned the tables with a more defensive approach. Olimar can't decide who to root for at this point.

Eventually, Bowser deals a last-second killer blow, bringing home the gold. Literally. A post-match conversation with the small Captain has revealed a small cash prize for his efforts. "I don't care much for the gold," says the turtle-dragon as he hands Olimar a handful of coins. "I'm just here to win." Olimar, confounded, watches Bowser walk off.

The money he received isn't all that much, but he considers it a good start. The coins, engraved with the trademark cross-and-circle, are a currency unique to this particular universe; based on his recent experience with the newly-discovered Trophy Shop, they're also the only currency (besides "Play Coins", whatever those are) that is accepted. As he also finds out, the coins have far more uses than buying overpriced trinkets.

While wandering about, Olimar spots Pit, the flightless angel, dragging a large cauldron full of coins. "You need help with that?" A stupid question for him to ask, considering his own lack of strength, but it burst out of his mouth like an undying habit. With some thinking and a few extra hands (courtesy of some wandering Pikmin Olimar found along the way), the two of them manage to carry the money to the bank.

"Thanks, Captain," Pit says with a sigh of relief. "If you didn't help, I'd be hauling this thing all day."

"Where did you get all this?" Even Bowser couldn't have won this much in such short time, or from a single match alone.

"Well, I just tossed some money into this pot, placed my bets, and fought my way to victory. It's that easy!"

"Really, now? I was beginning to think otherwise."

"Wha—? Wait, what's that supposed to mean?"

Before he can get a reply, the bank window opens up, and right behind it is the teller—a blonde Hocotatian dressed in classy black. The teller helps Pit through the process, weighing in the cauldron and finalizing the transaction. "And your total is 5,278G. Would you like to deposit everything or—" The teller meets eyes with Olimar, who immediately turns away. "Oh, hey, Ollie! Didn't see you standing there. If you can wait a sec, I can help you out—"

"No. Why are you here, anyway?" A better question would be "How_did you get here?"_

Unfazed, the teller finishes up the angel's transaction and turns his attention back to the Captain. "Everyone on Hocotate and Koppai have heard about you two. You're on the front pages! As President of Hocotate Freight, I simply couldn't pass up the opportunity."

_Opportunity?_ Olimar shakes his head. "Hold on a sec. What are you talking about? How in the eight heavens does everyone know about this?"

"Never mind the details. What matters is you _have_ to win now. The reputation of our company depends on it!"

"You mean _your_ reputation," Olimar replies with a scoff.

"Which affects your reputation as well. You are our top pilot, after all. Can't let the worlds see your incompetence." The Captain, his throat frozen with nerves, cannot come up with a good remark. "I should go, anyway. I have a meeting with the Hands soon. Nook can handle your money—maybe." With a tip of his top hat, he says his farewell and exits stage left.

The conversation with the other Hocotatian still enrages him even hours later. Luckily for him, he's part of a fighting tournament, so he has plenty of punching bags to vent his anger out on. Several victories and an equal number of losses later, he returns to the bank with a sizable amount of gold. Combined with Alph's winnings (stored away in their joint account), the hoard becomes quite impressive.

"Wow, Olimar, look at this," Alph exclaims while witnessing the weighing of their spoils. "Did you really earn all this yourself?"

Suddenly reminded of Bowser's random generosity, he answers, "I had a little bit of help. But most of it's mine. Well, ours, I guess."

"We could buy, like, ten trophies with this!"

_Only ten? With this much?_ "Don't go spending too much on those things. We'll need some to participate in the other events."

"You don't have to worry too much about that." The Koppaite whips out a green ticket. "Ta-dah! One free round with Crazy Hand!"

"Alph, Crazy Orders aren't that hard to get. Look." He takes out two green tickets and shows them to him. "But just in case, let's combine all these. The less we have to spend on them, the better."

"Oh, speaking of which, look at this trophy I got!" He digs out a figurine on a gilded platform—which looks an awful lot like a certain somebody. "It's Louie, see? I can put him on our nightstand, and—"

"Get that out of my face."

Alph sets the trophy down. "Ollie? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing. Just don't talk about that guy again, okay?"

"You mean President Louie?"

"Yes, that guy!"

Alph, disappointed, puts the trophy away. "Sorry if I struck a nerve. You wanna talk about it?"

Olimar pauses with a sigh and says, "Hey, why don't we grab a bite to eat? Surely, you must be starving from working so much." It doesn't take long for a large grin to form on the Koppaite's face.

It's dinnertime at the Smash Tower, and everyone is gathered in the cafeteria, eating to their delight. While inter-universe gatherings are not uncommon, most of the time, the Smashers prefer to stick with their own circle of allies. Case in point, Mario and his pals stand out in the center, while Olimar and Alph settle down in a far-off corner of the room. However, it seems even when they're doing their best not to stand out, they still manage to attract attention.

"Hey, guys! Mind if I join?" Mac sets his tray across from the two. Sporting a pink tracksuit and not his trademark boxing gloves, he looks surprisingly different. "Great job out there today, by the way. Definitely better than me. I still can't get used to those weird stages."

Olimar smirks. "I can attest to that."

"I must've lost, like, a bazillion Pikmin on Brinstar," Alph adds.

The conversation continues, with them discussing their favorite and most loathed places to fight on. Eventually, Mac brings up a certain place, "And Garden of Hope is just, like, wow! I'm not sure how I feel about it."

_Garden of Hope. So that's what they call it._ "I can't say I like it much myself." _Too many bad memories_, he wants to add.

"I know, right? It's full of weird obstacles that break and fall, and have I mentioned the giant crab?" He hasn't played on the stage itself, but hearing that makes him hope he never has to.

"It's really too bad," a familiar voice pops in. "I rather like it myself. At least, from a visual point of view."

Olimar does not need to turn around to figure out who it belongs to. Swallowing his pride, he says flatly, "Mac, this is Louie, President of Hocotate Freight."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. President," Li'l Mac chirps while offering a hand, which Louie accepts, albeit after some confusion. "So you an' Olimar work together?"

"Yes, we were once comrades," Louie answers, wrapping one arm around Olimar's shoulder. "But years pass, and now I'm his superior. Of course, that doesn't change our _personal_ relationship, right, Mar?"

"You don't have to word it like that," Olimar mutters.

Alph gasps. "You're going out with Louie?"

"It's nothing like that!"

"Not yet, anyway," Louie butts in. "But that's not the point. This is." He hands over an envelope sealed with the Hocotate Freight insignia. "Just a little something for luck. Courtesy of Master Hand and myself. Ta!"

The Captain stares at the envelope, puzzled. Should he open this right now? He pockets it. "I'll check it out later. For now, let's eat!"

While the alien captains and Mac enjoy their meal, two fighters have just finished theirs. Bowser and Dedede are engaged in conversation, which continues as they exit the lunch room. "An' then Meta Knight says, 'What did I do to deserve this?' Huh?" Dedede spots a group of humanoids, largely generic in appearance and all wearing black. They trek down the hall, like robots on patrol. "It's those creeps again. I swear, if I catch 'em stealin' my stuff..."

One of the humanoids stops before Bowser and shows him a photo. Pictured is a blue, glass-like Mario with glowing eyes. "Have you seen this individual," they ask in a robotic drone.

Bowser snatches the photo with one hand. "That's none of your business!" They blink, watching him storm away, and continue on.

"Ain't that Mario," Dedede asks, glancing at the picture. "He looks weird."

"That's cuz he ain't Mario," he says, crumpling it up. "Hey, Dee? I need you to do me a favor."

"And in return...?"

"We'll discuss that later. For now, I need you to find somebody. Eight of 'em, to be exact."

A sly grin on his face, Dedede replies, "Anything you say, _boss_." He wraps an arm around Bowser and lowers his voice seductively. "But first, my payment."

Little do those two know, a few of those somebodies are a lot closer than they think. Once the coast is clear, a small Koopa with a cyan mohawk pokes his head out of a nearby closet, then tiptoes out, followed by his two cohorts, one with green hair, the other rainbow. Scouting the hallways, they sneak about; when necessary, they sabotage any signs of security, whether they be cameras or an unwanted witness. Stealth not being their forte, they leave quite a mess behind them.

"Calling Conductor of Chaos. Come in, Conductor," the cyan-haired Koopa whispers through the walkie talkie in his hand. "This is Special Squad Leader speaking. We've successfully evaded security. The target is not on the first floor."

"He's not on the second floor, either," 'Conductor's' voice cracks through the device. "Bespectacled Brute's proceeded to the third floor by himself, so it's just the six of us now. We'll rendezvous on the fourth in thirty. And whatever you do—"

"Don't get caught. Got the picture, Conductor." The green-haired one jabs his finger in the direction of an adjacent hallway, from the walls of which a small cluster of shadows march in rhythm. "Uh-oh. Those Mii guys are back. See you there." 'Leader' puts away the walkie talkie and whips out a giant paintbrush, dripping with orange goo. "Wild Child, Wacky War Machine, it's time for 'Operation Triplicate'."

Pulling up their bandanas, their entire bodies change, bearing resemblance to a certain mustachioed plumber. As the shadows march closer, the trio split up, with one of them goading the Miis into pursuit. Leader runs ahead, losing track of the others. Once he gains a lead, he slaps some goo on a nearby vent gate, destroying it with corrosive properties, and crawls inside.

* * *

><p><strong>-Round Three Post-Script-<strong>

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, the eighth and last of those somebodies has been up to his own brand of mischief. He and his new friends, Hunter and Ducky, have witnessed the mysterious spaceship's descent and, upon the pilot's absence, infiltrated it. The young Koopa coughs as the door opens, releasing a dry and heavy air. Hunter lets out a worried whine, not taking one step inside. "It's okay, boy," the Koopa says while petting the dog's head. "I'll be in and out real quick. Keep an eye out for me, okay?" Hunter whines again, but wags his tail in reassurance.<p>

Gadgets and gizmos line against the metallic walls of the ship, beeping and spinning and flashing and glowing. Being surrounded by so much foreign technology mesmerizes the Koopa child. His train of thought starts to accelerate, trying to process the meaning behind everything. Geiger counter, cockpit, navigation system. Is that a piggy bank in the corner over there?

Upon closer examination, none of it's really all that fancy. But that's probably for the best, as it allows him to notice something more important: the slew of machine parts towards the back, all in dire need of repair. _I doubt that bald guy needs any of this_, the Koopa child concludes as he grabs an armful of junk and escapes before he can be spotted. But little does he know, he's already being watched.


End file.
